


Parting Shot

by valkyrieinabottle (xanaphorax)



Series: Slings & Arrows [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanaphorax/pseuds/valkyrieinabottle
Summary: When an alien steals work on the ultimate weapon out from under SHIELD's nose, it's up to the Avengers to find it and prevent the aliens from destroying the Earth. Again. But when one of Nick Fury's secrets' secret gets involved, they may find out that there's more they have to protect than just a couple of pages.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my story. This whole premise is based off of something that Tony Stark said about Fury in Avengers: "His secrets have secrets." I don't know about you guys, but I was really curious about what that could mean, and the result of my curiosity was this story. Anyway, this chapter mainly serves as the background, so if you don't feel like reading cleverly written exposition, you can skip to the next chapter. Please, let me know what you think, and more importantly, enjoy!

Nick Fury's secrets have secrets.  
For instance, there was the fact that directly after the whole Chitauri debacle, the World Security Council had ordered SHIELD to begin the E.P.I.C.S. Effort (Exploration of Projects to Impede Celestial Sabotage). EPICS was born out of the resistance to Phase 2, or perhaps more accurately, Thor's resistance to the project which was so strong he felt compelled to take their main source of power with him to another world. The goal of this new effort was to generate "better" (whatever that meant) deterrents and immediate response strategies to manage alien attacks, with many of the "innovative ideas" coming from the ashes of old projects that had burned out for various reasons.  
From this secret arose another: SHIELD was putting the majority of their hope (and time and capital) into the resurrection of Project P.I.E.C.E.S. PIECES or the Pursuit of Intelligence Essential to Critical Extraterrestrial Situations was a project centered around developing the ultimate deterrent christened the Perditrix. The initial attempt to develop the Perditrix had ended after the World Security Council decided the deterrent had "unnecessary force for any conflicts in the foreseeable future" and therefore was a "misallocation of resources." Fury had had an issue with the word "foreseeable," but had been directed to let the project die, and it being early enough in his career for him to still feel obliged to follow orders, he did as he was told. Nineteen years later, now that they needed to revive PIECES, the creator and lead scientist on the project, Dr. Kendrick, was dead. It had been an "unforeseeable tragedy." Go figure.  
Luckily, SHIELD still had possession of the journal Dr. Kendrick kept his notes in while originally working on the project. Unluckily, the notes were incomplete, and it was soon discovered that around half of the formulas Dr. Kendrick had written were not formulas at all, but names. It was unclear if the names were theories or researchers (as some names seemed to be coded and others were directly mentioned) or just random people, and it was also uncertain as to whether or not they were first or last names, as a few seemed to be very clearly first names, a few appeared to be very clearly last names, and a whole mess of names could be either. SHIELD was currently in the process of decoding all of these formulas and searching out various leads, the identities of these names becoming more secrets for Nick Fury to carry.  
In fact, Project PIECES was surrounded by secrets, with another one being that about a month ago when SHIELD had started to really make headway on the project, an alien had been caught scouting out the facility where the majority of the work on PIECES was being done. It became very clear after a few interrogation sessions that somehow in the few short months that SHIELD had been working on PIECES, word had reached space about the device, and he had been sent to acquire the Perditrix. So, there was now an extraterrestrial threat on Project PIECES. Again, it had been unforeseeable.  
However, the most pressing secret on Nick Fury's mind was one that had reached him a little less than half an hour ago. One of his secrets was now somewhat defunct. The alien was gone; he had somehow freed himself, knocked out a couple of Fury's top agents and the lead scientist on the case, stolen half of Kendrick's notes and then, while surrounded by agents, vanished into thin air.  
It was with these secrets in mind that Nick Fury landed at the secret base near Cima, California.


	2. Keep Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you're a little confused by this first chapter, but trust me, all will be explained. The song that splits the chapter into sections is "Call them Brothers" by Regina Spektor.

_That's it, it's split - it won't recover_  
Just frame the halves and call them a whole  
And chip at the bricks and fill up your pockets  
With the pieces of the wall that you stole

_Near Cima, California_

Agent Hill greeted Nick Fury as he climbed out of his helicopter.

"How much was lost on PIECES?" He didn't bother greeting her. One of the privileges of being the director of the world's central secret law-enforcement agency was that it was well within his rights to bypass the normal social formalities.

"The second half of the journal and all of the translations are gone," Hill informed. "All that's left is Dr. Selvig's memory." She eyed the manila folder in his hand as she fell into step with him, exiting the helicopter pad.

"And the agent providing the translations?"

"Gone, sir." Agent Hill focused back on Director Fury.

Fury nodded slowly as Agent Hill affirmed his prediction. "Are there others?"

"She's the only casualty so far, but at least a dozen other agents are in the Med Facility in various conditions." Hill answered. "Including Agent Romanoff."

"What's her status?"

"Only needs a few stitches before she'll be released."

"And Agent Barton?"

"Helping Dr. Selvig assess the damage. He was one of the few to witness the vanish and not have any scars to show for it."

"Anything else I should know about?" Fury probed, stopping before the lab's door.

"No, sir." Hill shook her head.

"Good. Make sure the deceased agent's family is notified and her things are put in order," Director Fury commanded. "And send Agent Romanoff to me as soon as she's released."

"Yes, sir." Hill nodded again before taking off back the way they had come. Fury turned to the lab, pushing open the doors to assess the damage for himself.

Had he inspected the lab on a normal day, only the soft whirring sounds of machines would have greeted him into the streamlined, spacious room. Each agent would have been too absorbed in whatever research he or she was laboring over to notice the abnormally loud footsteps.

But today was not a normal day.

Agents scrambled all over the place: holding documents, passing documents, receiving documents, checking equipment, tinkering with equipment, dodging the sparks that were flying off of the equipment. Smoke hovered in the air around them, and towards the back of the room, someone set down a fire extinguisher to wipe his brow. Papers were scattered across the floor, agents scuttling about to rescue them. In the center of the chaos stood Dr. Selvig.

"How's it looking, Doctor?" Fury asked. Dr. Selvig whirled around to face the director, his hands full of photocopies. He was pale, and his hair was mussed. A small cut above his left eyebrow trickled blood.

"It's not good, Director; I can tell you that," he responded, guiding Fury to a table where Agent Barton hovered over a journal and several pages strewn across the table, moving pages back and forth to compare with one another. "This is all we have left on the project. He completely fried the computer and the backup server, so the electronic copies are lost. The translations were all on the mainframe and Kathryn's notebook, which he took. He also took the second half of Kendrick's Journal, so we have nothing left on the work he did after the project was cancelled. It's all down to the few notes I've made along the way, and any copies that he might have missed, which we're looking for right now." Dr. Selvig looked around the room before turning back to Fury. "You know, it's getting dangerous working for you," he lamented.

"Can you make any progress with what's here?" Nick Fury asked, ignoring the attempt at the joke. He turned a few of the pages around so that he could get a better look at them.

"Very little. Most of what's been saved is stuff we've already worked out or we were hoping the second half would shed some light on. Even if anything did escape his notice, it'd probably be of little use. The theories are too progressive, and without having the proper translations for all of the formulas, we have no way of knowing what Kendrick's sources are or if they're even actual formulas."

"And how long before you can retranslate?"

"We could start retranslation in a week at the earliest. We have to get all of this sorted and figure out exactly how far back this incident has put us. Once we have it all together, actually retranslating could take at least another three weeks, probably more." Dr. Selvig moved around to the other side of the table, before selecting a piece of paper and coming back to Fury. "I've put together a list of the formulas and translations I remember, but it's not much to go on." Fury took the list, setting it against the manila folder as Dr. Selvig peered over his shoulder, pointing to a name. "This, we discovered is connected to Dr. Wilhelm Alder. Have you heard of his work?"

"The expansion and contraction of black holes? Yes, I'm familiar."

"There's a gala at the New York Hall of Science this Saturday. I've heard he's giving a lecture there," Dr. Selvig supplied. "Perhaps you can send people there to see if he talks about anything that might link back to this." Nick Fury nodded.

"What else is here?"

"This," Dr. Selvig pointed at a formula that was underlined and circled; from the formula, an arrow was drawn pointing at a name with a couple of question marks next to it. "Appeared the most often. It's not really apparent in the earlier work, but it became increasingly frequent throughout. We have no idea whether it's a name or a formula or a code word or really what Kendrick meant by this."

"I do," Fury commented, tearing off the last name before sliding the rest of the list inside of the manila folder. The gesture effectively ended the subject of names and translations.

"I was thinking, aside from seeking out Dr. Alder, perhaps it's time to call in Jane Foster or Dr. Banner. It's bad enough that we lost so much information, if we had them maybe—" Selvig swayed a little bit, and Fury reached forward to steady the scientist.

"Perhaps you should get that cut checked out Doctor," Fury suggested flagging down an agent who was scurrying by.

"It's fine, just a minor laceration. Anyway, as I was saying, Jane or—"

"I'm not bringing anybody else into Project PIECES. In fact, I'm taking you off of this as soon as you have everything sorted out."

"What?" Dr. Selvig sputtered. "For this little thing?" he gestured to his head.

"I don't need you being targeted by this alien. If he thinks you know anything else, he'll come after us again, this time with his eyes on you. It'd be best to make it seem like the project has died while we focus on managing this threat against it," Fury explained. Dr. Selvig nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Agent Hung, see Dr. Selvig to the Med Facility, and get ready to move everything to the Helicarrier. Agent Barton?" For the first time since Nick Fury entered the room, Agent Barton looked up from the papers.

"Yes, sir?" Agent Barton asked, walking alongside Fury as the director moved to leave the room, trailing Agent Hung and Dr. Selvig.

"What happened down here?"

"The alien came through the door, and we immediately made an effort to restrain him. He hit something on his wrist guard and it released a sort of blast of energy which knocked us backwards and temporarily paralyzed us. He made his way up to the journal, releasing more of those pulses, which did a number on the equipment and those around it. He knocked Dr. Selvig out of the way, Agent Blake came at him with her gun, and he killed her. By that time the effect of the pulse had worn off, and we started to surround him. I took a shot at him, and he vanished. Sir, if he was capable of causing this much destruction, he must have let us capture and take him in. He wanted to be here so he could get to the journal."

"My thoughts exactly," Fury responded.

"Now that he has those translations, I think he's going to start going after those in Kendrick's Journal. I don't know if he's going to force them to work for him or steal whatever it is they've created, but we should probably start some sort of effort to protect them."

"That's what I need you for," Fury said, handing the manila folder over to Agent Barton.

"Operation A.R.R.O.W." Barton read the cover of the folder. "Is this a joke?"

"The names on this list are going to need to be protected, and we're going to have to start making leaps about why Kendrick put these people in his journal," Fury directed, ignoring Clint's question. "I'm going to need you at the Meeting of Minds Gala this Saturday."

"Me, sir? I'm a sniper. Natasha would be better suited for this," Agent Barton protested.

"I have something else in mind for Agent Romanoff. Besides, I'm not sure that she and Stark will play well together on this one."

"Stark?" Agent Barton asked. Fury could understand the reluctance.

"Invitations are hard to come by, and he already has one. You'll find yours in the folder along with other information," Fury said, gesturing at the folder.

"Director Fury," the agent started. "How did you already know that we would need to go to the gala?"

"Be at Stark's Tower by six, and make sure you read over the file," Nick Fury ordered before walking away, leaving the agent behind.

_Over and over they call us their friends_  
Can't we find something else to pretend?  
Like nobody's won and we're safe at the end

_In Manhattan, New York City_

Molly McKay rarely ate breakfast at home. Food was never appealing at four in the morning, and since she had to be at Monarch Bakery at five to start baking for the day, it was either suffer and stuff breakfast in then, or sacrifice breakfast, and have brunch instead. So, as it was, Molly usually skipped breakfast, opting to take a break for brunch at around ten o'clock once Saoirse came in to finish off all of the baking. Almost every day, Molly found herself walking down to Pershing Square Café "breakfast" there. Due to the frequency of her visits, along with the fact that the bakery frequently gave the café all of Monarch's leftover pies and cakes for the café to sell for pure profit, Molly got a good discount on her meal, leading her to continue to choose the café over every other breakfast option. This may not have been a good thing, but to say so would be getting ahead of things. As it was, going to the café had its perks.

It did, however, also have a huge drawback in the form of a young blonde waitress who decided that it was her goal in life to make Molly better. Beth. Somehow Molly had been stuck at Beth's table a couple of times in a row, and thus Beth decided that they were now friends. Best friends, actually. This led the hostess to seat Molly in Beth's section every day, thinking she was doing Molly a favor. As it was, Molly just got to start off every morning with Beth. Every morning. With Beth.

"Molly!" Beth exclaimed in a singsong voice coming over to the baker's table. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Molly responded calmly to the perky blonde as she looked over the menu. Molly had memorized it a long time ago (one of the gifts of having a true photographic memory) so looking through it was mainly for a distraction value. A polite way to ignore Beth.

"Did you try that hair rinse I suggested? A little lavender and apple cider vinegar, and it'll really bring the life back to you hair. Make it less…flat," Beth suggested picking up strands of Molly's brunette hair and letting them fall back in place.

"It's on the shopping list," Molly answered with a weak smile, looking up from her menu. Suddenly Beth's eyes widened, and her smile grew even bigger.

"Did I tell you?  _O Captain! My Captain!_ reached 1.5 _million_ fans," Beth gushed pouring Molly a cup of coffee. Molly took two creamers out of the small porcelain bowl at the center of the table and carefully peeled off the paper covering them, before pouring them into her coffee.

"Really?" Molly asked, not bothering to put the usual tinge of interest in the tone. She still had a good five minutes of Beth going on about Captain America and her great website – it was the leading fansite for Captain America in the world, did you know that? – and there was nothing Molly could do to stop her.

"To celebrate I re-posted the story of how he saved my life. It was the day of the Chitauri Invasion—" Molly ripped open two packets of Sweet-N-Low and emptied them into her coffee. She had heard the story so many times she could recite it in unison with Beth. _I was being herded across the street by the police, along with everyone else. There were explosions and gunshots all around. People were screaming, and the police were barking orders trying to get the situation under control. I still remember the fear I felt in the pit of my stomach. Pure_ _terror. If only you could imagine what it felt like to know that any minute there could be a bullet with your name on it. One explosion close enough, and that was the end of your story. You turned into another number in the death toll. A name on a memorial wall._

She would pause there.

_And that's when I saw it coming for us. Did you know, there's a stage of fear when you just let it take over you? It seeps into every fiber of your being, seizing you in it's cold, deathly grip, paralyzing you. I couldn't move. I couldn't even scream. I had reached that stage. I hope you never have to experience it. Death was coming, and I couldn't even lift a hand to greet it._

A small smile played on Beth's face. She was proud of that line, but she had to keep the mood of the story up. Molly's spoon made gentle clinking sounds against the inside of her coffee cup.

 _And then he came. He stood right in front of me with his shield. That shield. It was like the assault wasn't even there. I made it home that night because Captain America saved_ me. _He stood right in front of me and protected me from certain death. I owe him my life._  Beth stood there, carafe in hand, letting the story sink in. Molly tapped her spoon against the edge of her mug before setting the piece of silverware down on her napkin.

"Amazing," she remarked.

Beth smiled brightly. "And how's Monarch?"

"Good," Molly nodded. "We actually just signed on to cater a fundraising gala tonight."

"Ooh, a gala?" Her interest seemed to actually be piqued for once.

"Yeah, it's for a bunch of the leading physicists of today to essentially update to their benefactors. You know, like this is what we're working on and what we've discovered, and this is how you can use this knowledge kind of thing." Molly paused, taking a sip out of her coffee.

"A whole night of people talking about science?" Beth snorted. "Good luck with that." Molly didn't attempt to make the case of how physics could be actually interesting even if you didn't understand of it.

"It's being held at the new museum that just went up. With any luck this'll open the door to the whole academic elite community and maybe even some of the high society philanthropists."

"Great, so pancakes, right?" Beth responded, changing the topic. "Whole wheat? Low-fat syrup?"

"What? Oh, I don't want the low-fat, reg—" Molly stumbled over her words, recovering from the conversational whiplash.

"Sure you do! It's way better for you, and I know how much you care about eating healthy," Beth interrupted, writing down the order. Beth was fairly certain she knew more about Molly than anybody else. Including Molly. "Besides, you need to keep in shape if you want to attract a man." She winked. Beth, though extremely misguided, meant well. She only wished on Molly what she wanted for herself.

"I'm not really that worried about that sort of thing." Molly protested immediately. She hated this subject.

"Oh. Well good for you," Beth said, too eagerly. "I mean, you're happier than I'd be. By the time I'm thirty, I hope I'll have a kid or two. I mean, jeeze, if I don't have my first one by the time I'm twenty-six I'm going to adopt."

"That's only two years away, Beth." Beth kept Molly up to date on her birthdays.

"I know, so I _really_ need to get a move on with the whole husband thing. I mean, no offense, but I don't want to be single when I'm  _thirty_. I mean, suppose I met a guy and fell in love like a week into being thirty. It'd take a year and a half to make sure I was really in love, and then another year to plan the wedding, so already I'd be like, what, thirty-two? Then once we're married there's the like ten months or so of getting things in order and making sure he'll be a good father. I'd be thirty-three by the time I had the first kid, and that's _if_ I got pregnant right away. I mean, that's like seven years behind schedule, I'd be fifty-one when they graduated high school." Beth wrinkled her nose. "That's way to old to be raising a kid." She quickly brought herself back to Molly, her face softening. "But, honey, if that works for you, then good for you."

"Excuse me, miss?" An older man at a table nearby raised his hand. Beth spun around, sticking on a big smile.

"Yes, sir? How can I help you?" The singsong voice was back. Molly breathed out, glad the attention was away from her and her love life.

"Can my wife get a little more coffee?"

"Of course. I'm so sorry. I just got a little caught up helping my friend through something. You know how it is," she said sweetly. There worst part was that Beth honestly believed she was doing just that.

With Beth away, Molly was left sitting alone in blissful peace. One of these days she would bring Saoirse, so she wouldn't be alone in facing Beth. It wasn't that the waitress was that hard to deal with; she was just a little wearing on personalities like Molly's **.** Just what exactly constituted as a personality like Molly's though, the baker wasn't sure. In fact, if someone held a gun to her head and asked her to pick three words to describe herself, she probably wouldn't have been able to give a single answer. She guessed, though, that in it's own way, this fact was a very good way of describing herself. The problem was that Molly wouldn't want to lie to the person because she had a thing about being honest, and she probably would have put too much thought into what counted as a lie, carefully denying each word that came to mind because it had some obscure implication that didn't always apply to her. Molly had to be careful and thoughtful, though; her boss was fairly uptight and generally crazed, so Molly had to keep a level head at work to make sure that Kim didn't go off the deep end. Although to say she _had_ to keep a level head made it seem as if it didn't come naturally to Molly. So thoughtful, levelheaded, reliable? Honest? Did thoughtful and levelheaded count as the same thing? Molly gave up. Like she thought. She couldn't come up with three words.

"Excuse me." A woman had walked up to her table. Molly recognized her as having been sitting at the table with the man who called Beth away. "I just wanted to let you know, that you can't let that girl bring you down," the woman stated, seriously. Molly blinked in surprise; it took her a second to realize that the woman was referring to Beth. "I had my youngest son when I was thirty four, and he and I are perfectly healthy and happy to this day. You have kids when you're ready with your Mr. Right. Don't you worry about what some bitch waitress says. It's your life." The woman gestured with her hand as if she was a politician making some key point in her address. "And God bless the man and children who have to deal with that." She nodded at Beth who was animatedly talking to a businessman who very obviously  _just_  wanted breakfast and not to have to deal with any chattering blonde.

"Thank you, ma'am." Molly smiled, a bit bewildered as the woman smiled back before walking away to join her husband in exiting the café. She was greatly amused that Beth had just been called a bitch, but in the back of her mind, she was slightly disturbed by people's sudden interest in giving her love-life advice.

Maybe she would have to skip breakfast tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, an introduction to everyone (well, almost everyone). I hope you liked it :) Your opinions and thoughts are greatly valued, which is my polite/passive-aggressive way of saying please review!


	3. Right Moves

_At the New York Hall of Science_

Molly had never been to a place more beautiful than the Anthony Viscusi Gallery of the New York Hall of Science. The circular room was dreamlike—an effect created by the slivery/purple-ish lights which covered every surface of the room—the ceiling, the floors, the walls, everything—in shimmering speckles, turning the white walls into the surface of the moon, and the high, dark ceiling into the starry expanse of space. In the center of the room stood a large, slightly raised, circular platform that served as both the dance floor and the stage. The several square pillars surrounded the dance floor, worked together to hold up a white piece of fabric, reminiscent of the wings of a glider, to form a tent-like roof over the silver platform.

Closer to the walls of the room sat the tables, draped with white table cloths and featuring tall arrangements of purple and white flowers that resembled a sort of firework and made it rather difficult for the guests to speak to one another across the table. Molly's cupcakes' display was tucked away on the far side of the room between two stacks of large lit up boxes, but she didn't mind; there was an excellent view of the stage.

"You know, if I was one of them coming in here and seeing all this, I would definitely empty my pockets." Saoirse remarked, looking around the room. "This is some _cool shit_."

"Yeah," Molly nodded. "Especially with guests as fascinating as Dr. Alder."

"Tell me that was your attempt at sarcasm." Saoirse leveled a look at Molly. "That speech was excruciating. He's like the 90 year-old poster child for why people should never skip public speaking classes."

"Saoirse," Molly laughed. "Did you _hear_ his credentials? He basically did for astrophysics what Andy Warhol did for Pop Art. If you're that good at what you do, you don't need to take public speaking classes."

"Yeah, well, all I'm saying is that his credentials didn't help make his speech any more interesting. Annunciating or using inflection or practicing any of the other techniques they teach you in the first week of an Intro to Public Speaking class; however, would have."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't _that_ bad. Besides, don't you remember learning about his theory on—"

Saoirse held up a hand in the "halt" sign. "I'm going to stop you there and say no. And don't even bother trying to explain it because I'm pretty much the poster child for why you should probably maybe sometimes go to a few of your science classes." Molly let out another laugh at this comment.

While Molly wouldn't say that she and Saoirse were close friends, she definitely found the other baker infinitely more enjoyable to talk to than Beth, the only other person (besides Molly's mother) Molly frequently talked to. Given that Molly was a full-full time employee and Saoirse was trying to pay her way through grad school, the pair frequently worked long hours together at Monarch, and as a result had become rather friendly fairly quickly. In fact, they got along so well that the owner of Monarch had even begun to believe that the pair was much closer than they actually were, starting to call Saoirse "Molly 2."

This nickname made no sense for several reasons.

First was the fact that they really weren't that close.

Then there was the fact that they didn't look alike at all. Molly looked normal. She was tall-ish and thin-ish and the kind of pretty that attracted the attention of old ladies and family members, but not many other people. Saoirse, on the other hand, somehow managed to be simultaneously adorable and sexy. She was a petite blonde with her wavy golden hair cut into a chin-length bob that always looked effortlessly good. Molly wished that she could cut her own hair in such a way, but she had a sinking feeling that her chocolate brown hair was too straight and she would just look like she was trying to be edgy and bold—which was very much _not_ what Molly wanted—so she kept her hair long. Saoirse had brown eyes like Molly, but hers always seemed lighter or somehow different so that people frequently complimented her on them but never said a word to Molly.

Perhaps the greatest difference between the two, however, was their temperaments. By all accounts, Saoirse was the feistier of the two, always quick to feel the extremes. Sometimes some of the girls in the shop tried to provoke Saoirse into yelling at them because they found it hilarious that she spoke with a lilt and used some of the old Irish phrases she learned from her mother when she was angry. While it was always slightly amusing at first, it frequently ended with the instigator in tears. Perhaps when Saoirse reached Molly's age she would mellow out a little, but given that she was only four years away from thirty, Molly highly doubted that the other girl was going to change.

"I don't think I could explain it that well even if you'd let me," Molly responded. "I don't understand it, I just remember hearing about it." Before Saoirse, could comment on how weird Molly was, an older couple walked up, forcing them the girls get back to work.

Molly greeted the couple and gave descriptions for each of the cupcakes (S'mores, Espresso Shot, Sucker Punch, the Halo, and Bourbon Street) for the man whose eyesight was apparently impaired. The woman meanwhile fired off the same kind of outlandish questions Molly had been answering all night. Molly told the woman what she wanted to hear and made up the answers when she didn't know them. The couple walked away with their cupcakes, seemingly content, and Molly took a sip of the champagne that had been given to her earlier. This was one of the few places where you were allowed to drink on the job. At least, she was. Unfortunately there had been a small mix up earlier that landed Saoirse behind the display handing out the cupcakes, wearing the Gallery's serving staff uniform instead of standing in front of the display with Molly, wearing a fancy dress, drinking champagne and networking with the crowd. This had elicited a lot of grumbling from the younger baker.

 "At what point do people start caring about 'What factory do you order your wrappers from?' and 'What country do you import your sugar from?'" Molly mused.

"I don't know, but if I ever start suggesting that we use edible gold on our cupcakes because it will 'really enhance the experience' please beat me over the head with all of the money that's causing me to think crazy thoughts." Saoirse vented. "You know earlier someone asked me if the Bourbon Street was made with Evan Williams' 23 Year Old or A.H. Hirsch Reserve?"

Molly laughed and looked around the room, noticing a woman navigating her way to the table.

She was beautiful, tall and thin with sleek red hair pulled into a low bun. A few loose curls fell around her face and down her neck. Her makeup was natural and tasteful, unlike some of the other women there who had truly taken the phrase "let me put on my face" to heart. She wore a deep purple one-shoulder dress, with the shoulder being more of a cap sleeve than a strap. Diagonal lines cut across her chest, following the dip in the lack of shoulder. The rest seemed to be cinched in the front at the waist and then fall into a beautiful flowing satin gown. She smiled when Molly greeted her, revealing perfect white teeth.

"There's so many to choose from, and they all look delicious," she remarked, moving to Molly's side as she looked over the cupcakes. "What do you think?"

Molly was caught completely off guard, and stood staring blankly at the woman for a second. "Oh, um," Molly said collecting herself. "My favorite here is probably the Bourbon Street."

"The Bourbon Street?" she asked, wandering over to the labeled cupcakes. She bent over to carefully observe it. "What's in it?"

"It's a chocolate cupcake soaked in bourbon. The icing is a bourbon buttercream with a pecan praline," Saoirse answered from behind the table before Molly could.

"And the Sucker Punch? That's an… _interesting_ name." The woman looked up at Saoirse who laughed.

"I know. I think people are afraid to order it because they think I'm gonna deck them like in the old Hawaiian Punch commercials. It's actually really delicious though. It's our lemon cupcake with a sweet cream frosting and some lemon zest to top it off."

"And the Halo?"

"Angel food cake," Saoirse supplied. "It has just a powdered sugar glaze on top, but on the inside there's a little bit of sweet cream icing. It's one of our lighter cupcakes."

"That sounds delicious," The woman nodded. "But I think I'll have to stick with the Bourbon Street." She shot a smile back at Molly as Saoirse handed the cupcake over in a napkin. The woman took it, taking a bite out of the cupcake on her way back to stand next to Molly.

"And?" Molly asked.

"It's delicious." The woman had to navigate the words around a mouthful of cupcake, resulting in a muffled sound. She took a second to swallow before attempting to speak again. "Can I have a second?" she directed this question to Saoirse.

"Of course."

The woman quickly had a cupcake in each hand. "Where are these from?" she asked, taking another bite out of the original cupcake.

"Monarch Bakery. Do you want a business card with our information?" Saoirse asked.

 _Would you like,_ Molly corrected in her head. _Would you like our business card?_ Saoirse was here training tonight so that Monarch could expand their catering services, and while she had been doing well, she was still a little rough around the edges.

"That would be wonderful, thanks." The woman said, juggling her cupcakes so she could take a card from Saoirse. "Do you do a lot of catering?"

"We're actually in the process of branching out our catering services right now, so we're not too hard to book, but I would recommend that you give as much advanced notice as possible before your event to make sure that we are free." And she was back to doing well.

"Wonderful. Well thank you for the cupcake," the woman thanked Saoirse before turning to face Molly. "And thank you for the suggestion; you really know your cupcakes." She complimented.

 _I should hope so._ Molly thought to herself, letting a small smile slip onto her face.

"Have a great rest of the evening, and don't stand here all night." She walked away, leaving behind a slightly confused Molly who slowly caught on to what happened as she followed the woman's progress across the room.

The woman must have thought that Molly was a guest. The confusion made sense. She was standing in front of the table, wearing a dusty rose-colored evening dress with a ruched bodice and waistline. It was a v-neck dress with thin straps, and a flowing floor length a-line skirt, that twirled around her when she spun (she had made sure to check this in her apartment). Molly's dark hair was also pinned up into a braided bun to keep it out of her face.

Molly watched as the woman stopped in front of a man, offering him the cupcake. He looked vaguely familiar, despite the fact that the woman was blocking Molly's view of his face, so all Molly could see was how tall he was and his short dark hair. Suddenly the woman turned and pointed to the table and at Molly, who quickly looked down and pretended to dust something off of her dress to avoid being caught staring.

"Molly." Saoirse said urgently, looking in the same direction that Molly had just been.

"What?" Molly quickly looked up.

"Do you see who that is? That's  _Tony Stark_." Saoirse hissed. "We just gave a cupcake to Iron Man's date. _Iron Man._ Iron Man is _here_. And _we're_ here. What if he wants another cupcake? What if he comes over here? My parents won't believe it. I can't believe, Tony Stark—it's Iron Man, Molly. Fucking, _Iron Man_!"

"Do you want me to call him over so you can get his autograph?"  Molly asked. "Maybe a picture?"

"Very funny." Saoirse retorted before going back to stare at Tony Stark. Molly snorted before turning to get her own view of the superhero. If only it had been Captain America. Breakfast the next day would have been interesting.

 

_They'll be the King of Hearts, and you're the Queen of Spades  
Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers_

 

_A Little Later_

By the time the fourth speech of the evening finished up, the majority of the cupcakes had been handed out and only a few guests wandered over to Molly and Saoirse. The band struck up a new song, and, in what was probably an attempt to stay awake for the last speech of the night, more people moved to the dance floor than had before.

"Wait, don't tell me that old guy who can't give a speech is about to try to dance." Saoirse interrupted Molly mid-sentence, peering over the baker's shoulder.

"Saoirse."

"You have the speeches. I have this. Don't give—oh, his wife's eyebrows are _purple_!"

"What?" Molly spun around quickly.

"And you were so quick to judge."

Molly flushed a little, but even her embarrassment couldn't keep her from standing up on her toes to search the crowd for the purple eyebrows and the scientist who accompanied them.

"Molly, they're _awful._ " Saoirse commented gleefully, attempting and failing to stifle her laughter with a hand over her mouth.

"I don't see, them. What's she wearing?"

"Look, she's right over there in the—hello, sir."

A jolt of panic, similar to that a kid feels when being caught drawing on the walls, shot through Molly. She spun back around, landing on her feet while thanking God that she didn't have problems with grace, balance, or gravity like most girls. Her breathing hitched as she looked at the "sir" who stood in front of her.

He was not one of the elder patrons or even one of the scientists here to demand a cupcake and answers to questions about what the weather was like the day they harvested the cocoa beans used to make the cocoa powder for their chocolate cupcakes. No, this man was about her age, and he stood still and quiet, with an air of authority about him that seemed to enrapture both bakers. Molly's face grew warm and she felt her stomach tightening. He was staring. _At_ _her_.

"Hello," he greeted. His voice was a strong and yet soft baritone, and it caused Molly's toes to curl.

"Hi," Molly breathed.

"Would you like to dance?"

She could not have heard that right.

"Sorry?" Molly asked. She was still staring. She should blink. Sooner rather than later.

"Would you like to dance?" he repeated. "With me." The unnecessary elaboration caused Molly's heartbeat to rocket.

"Oh. Oh, I'd love to, but I'm just—"

"Don't feel obligated to stay here with me; go dance," Saoirse interjected. "She's been back here keeping me company all night. Too nice." Molly wasn't sure if she would kill Saoirse later or thank her.

"Oh, well, in that case, dancing would be nice." Molly said softly, taking the man's outstretched hand, and he led her out to the dance floor. Molly remained in a sort of stunned silence as she turned to face her dance partner, careful to place her hands in the proper places and not an inch too low. A tingle raced through her spine as she felt the slight pressure of his hand holding her waist, his other hand gently taking hers, despite his calloused fingers. The pair stood for a second, him staring down at her as he held her, and she staring right back up into his eyes. And then, in the next second, they were off.

Molly followed her partner's lead, her legs carrying her in a way she hadn't known they were able to. Apparently it didn't "take two to tango," it only took one talented dancer and another warm body, and considering how well he was able to navigate around the dance floor with her, a girl who had taken no more than four dance classes in her life, Molly doubted the warm body was even necessary. Her mind was free from the constraining thoughts of dance-speak, the "1,2,3,turn" "forward and 1" "careful of your feet" that usually plagued her head while she danced. Instead, she focused on him, keeping her eyes locked with his as often as the dance would allow. The two danced in silence, gliding across the floor in a perfect fluid motion. And while the silence between them was tense, it was not awkward like she had expected. Instead, it felt like a taught string, connecting two objects as they whirled through space. Talking would have ruined the feeling.

Molly took him in as she would a painting. He made her feel smaller, younger, like she had a lot to learn, and yet at the same time she felt safe with him there. And yet, almost conversely, she felt…like she was enough. He himself looked attractive. But it was more than that. He was strong, stoic. Stoic was the right word. Each feature contributed to his look, to the feelings he evoked. His grey, melting into blue eyes. Distant, but focused. Short, light ash brown hair that stuck out a little in the front. Natural, not gelled. His square face, lined and scarred with a broad nose, a strong nose in the center. His mouth set in a line, but not unhappily. Determinedly. And he was taller than her by maybe three inches, maybe a little more. He would make for a beautiful painting.

Molly did not have much more time to admire her partner, for as the pair turned so they switched places, Molly caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye: purple eyebrows. Despite herself, Molly broke eye contact with her partner to look around his side. She recognized the partner of the woman with the purple eyebrows: Dr. Alder. Before she could thoroughly examine the pair, they were gone, replaced by the red haired woman from earlier and Tony Stark. The woman looked openly concerned as she moved through the dance, but Tony Stark was just smiling at her as he talked animatedly. Molly's own brow furrowed as she followed the pair with her eyes. And then she fell into a cliché. Literally.

While Molly had managed to keep her balance on her heels all night, gravity had come to take its revenge. More focused on the red haired woman and Tony Stark than her own partner, Molly hadn't been ready for him to turn her suddenly, and as he turned, she stumbled and fell. At the last second, Molly caught herself, or more accurately, caught onto her dance partner, gripping him tightly so she was able to get her feet back under her. Not only did he look strong; he _was_ strong. Quite strong. She could tell from her hold around his bicep. It was about then that Molly realized it was a bit odd for her to be holding so high up on his arm, and as she assessed the situation further, she realized that he had shifted his hold to steady her and keep her from falling. So, she he hadn't caught herself after all. Molly's face flushed. She had never been one of those girls to constantly embarrass herself in front of attractive guys, and yet, he had caught her doing two embarrassing things in one night. She blamed Saoirse.

She looked up into his face to find him peering down intently at her. His eyes were no longer distant. The two held each other's gaze for several seconds before he spoke. "Are you ok?"

"Just embarrassed," Molly said, letting go of her death grip but not looking away.

A hint of a smile crossed his lips. "Don't be." Molly could feel her lips twitch up as well. The two returned to their previous positions, recovering fully. Molly kept her eyes trained on his even as his eyes darted over her shoulder or to the side. Never say that Molly didn't learn from her mistakes.

"I'm Molly by the way," she introduced herself suddenly, surprising herself a little. He turned his attention back to her from where he had been looking off to the side.

"Clint," he responded. _Clint_. She repeated silently. It would have meant something different if she had said it out loud.

"It's nice to meet you, Clint."

"A pleasure." They finished the dance in a silence that was far more comfortable than any strains to make conversation. He kept his hold on her as the first lines of a new song started a new dance. A few people around them exited the dance floor, replaced by other couples who had been drinking or talking during the previous song. Clint opened his mouth to speak, and then turned to look behind him, muttering something.

"I'm sorry?" Molly asked. He turned back around to look at her.

"Thank you, Molly." Another shiver shot up her spine. Then he released her, turned, and left. She could hear him talking some more as he moved further away, leaving her alone and a little shocked on the dance floor.

Molly stood there for about a second more before she made her way back through the crowd to the cupcakes.

"Well?" Saoirse asked, eyebrows raised. "How was it?"

"It was nice," Molly said, slowly.

"Nice. It was nice," Saoirse teased. "I saw you out there. Looked intense." Molly guessed that Saoirse hadn't seen the fall. Thank goodness. "Meeting up later?"

"What? Oh—no. No…no." Molly protested, shaking her head. One more couldn't hurt. "No."

"So, yes." Like Beth, Saoirse had an inexplicable fascination with Molly's love life. Unlike Beth, however, Saoirse was never passive-aggressive in her criticisms, which Molly found infinitely less annoying that Beth's wheedling. Saoirse was blunt, and Molly could handle that.

"No." Molly shook her head. "No, he actually…left." Molly looked over her shoulder, casually scanning the crowd for him. He had taken off towards the door though and was probably long gone by now.

"He left?" Saoirse repeated. "A piece of ass like yours standing in front of him and he just left? What the fuck is his problem?" While Saoirse was described as adorable, the personality didn't quite match.

"I mean, it's not like he left in the middle of the dance. He did seem a bit preoccupied though, like he remembered he had to do something. I don't know." Molly said, looking back at Saoirse.

"Well, shit."

"He thanked me."

"He _thanked_ you. What the fuck kind of—" And it was at about that time that somebody screamed.

" _They're back!_ " a woman shrieked, followed by a sob. "They've come back to kill us all!"

The music stopped and the room turned eerily quiet, the only sound a few murmurs throughout the crowd before someone else called out to the woman. "Who's back?"

"The _aliens_. It's just like it was three months ago!"

And then everybody started screaming.

There was a mad dash towards the doors despite the fact that that was where the woman had just come from. Saoirse and Molly didn't scream, but they looked at each other with wide eyes.

"The cupcakes?" Saoirse asked. Molly could have laughed at how in the midst of an alien invasion, the first thing on Saoirse and Molly's mind was what to do with the cupcakes.

"I think Kim'd be a bit more upset if she lost us." Molly said, kicking off her shoes and taking off towards the door, her dress hiked up a bit. The two bakers were among the last ones out, just in time to see Iron Man and Clint, now dressed in a new outfit equipped with a compound bow, standing off against the alien. Molly blinked a few times, more shaken by a memory than by the scene in front of her.

She'd seen Clint before.

It was during the Chitauri invasion. Everything was going to hell and she was trapped on a bus. All around her people were screaming and frantically searching for a way out, despite the aliens and gunfire waiting for them outside. Smoke was rapidly filling up inside of the bus making it hard to breathe, and the emergency exits were defunct. She remembered looking at the seats next to her and seeing the bus driver lift a young boy out through the window. It had been one of the few times she prayed in her life, for that little boy. She had just finished her prayer when the doors had been wrenched open and people flooded out, pushing Molly down the stairs and out away from the bus. It was as she was running that she saw her—their savior turning back to his partner, a tall, thin, red haired woman with a haircut quite similar to Saoirse's. She hadn't been able to see either of their faces properly, but she knew it was him. The outfit was the same. The bow was the same. His profile fit her memory. And now Molly realized why she had been so captivated by him. It wasn't because he was attractive; it was because he had saved her life and her memory, working as it did, had held onto the shape of his nose and the way his hair stuck up a little in the front.

And then it hit her: she had danced with an Avenger.

Saoirse figured it out twenty seconds later, as evidenced by her repeatedly hitting Molly on the arm with the back of her hand.

"Molly," she hissed. "That's _him_."

Molly nodded dumbly.

"An Avenger. You danced with a fucking Avenger."

She couldn't stop nodding. And then the crowd collectively jumped back, and Molly turned her attention away from Clint and to the alien he faced.

He was a sight. More creepy than horrifying, but Molly still felt sick to her stomach looking at him. The alien would have looked vaguely human were it not for the fact that he was about seven feet tall. He had smooth slate grey skin, reminiscent of a polished stone. His eyes were almost too small for his face. They glinted gold, and for a second Molly thought he had no pupils until she realized that instead of human sized pupils, he had thin streaks of black in the center of the gold, reminiscent of a cat's eyes. He had no ears, and his nose looked like Voldemort's: flat with slits. With the exception of bushy black eyebrows, he was bald, in place of hair having intricately drawn patterns in light grey drawn across his skull. His armor was a dark shade of seafoam, sleek and metallic. He had graphite colored cuffs with more graphite spikes leading up to the top of his shoulder.

"I am Talbot, and I am just the messenger." A messenger with rather large guns on either side of his waist.

"Messenger? Aren't you supposed to have a dapper little uniform with one of those square hats?" Ironman asked. Saoirse snorted.

"A messenger of what?" Clint asked.

"The destroyer of worlds," Talbot answered. A woman let out a cry.

"Ok, look, you can break out your pitch pipe and we can continue this little song and dance for a while, but bottom line is: you can't have him," Iron Man said.

"Him? I am here for no man," Talbot sneered, completely missing Iron Man's singing telegram joke. Molly had got it. She hadn't laughed, but she got it.

"What are you here for?" Clint asked.

"The iridium."

Molly searched for through the crowd looking for the source of the familiar voice. Dr. Alder stepped forward, away from his terrified-looking wife and her fantastic eyebrows.

"Iridium? There's no iridium here," Clint answered. Molly's thoughts raced as she tried to remember everything she had learned about iridium from her father going over his lesson plans. It was an element. Metal. A stabilizer, right? The most corrosion resistant. Why did the aliens want iridium?

"After the incident in Germany, they took the remaining iridium and split it up, sending small portions to different parts of the world in order to protect it," Dr. Alder explained. "I do not know where the rest of the iridium is, only the small amount I have been charged to protect. If you want iridium you will have to look elsewhere for it. There is not enough here for you to do anything with." Saoirse was kind of right. He did sort of fumble over his words.

The alien began to chuckle, and Molly went cold. "Yours is a race of children, foolish and vying for attention in the grander community. You are trying to control that which you do not understand, which you cannot even begin to fathom. Your attempts to protect the key are needless. You are flies to be swatted. Ants under our boots."

"I've heard that one before," Iron Man commented. "Didn't work out so well for the boot." He lifted a hand blaster. "Anyway, we can continue the little show where I ask you what your plan is and who you're working for and you tell me everything because you don't believe it'll make any difference, but we both know that at the end of it all, you're coming home with me."

Talbot snickered. "I would think not."

 It all happened in a second. Talbot whipped out his gun and Hawkeye drew his bow. Talbot fired once into the crowd, and at the same time Iron Man fired one of his blasters, and Clint let loose an arrow.

In the next second, Talbot was gone. People weren't sure whether to cheer or not.

"Alright, party's over." Iron Man said, taking off his mask.

Saoirse looked at Molly. "So, I'm guessing this means we have to pack up the cupcakes after all. Damn."

_Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going_

_Yeah, we're going down_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it through. There was a lot cram packed into this chapter. Please let me know what you think; I love hearing what my readers want to see and what they enjoyed!  
> The song for this chapter's OneRepublic's "All the Right Moves."


End file.
